Black Pariah, a MCR Frerard fic
by mcrmyrangerbabe
Summary: This is the tale of what if's, after MCR have ended and are just a fading memory, main characters are an older Frank and Gerard with glimpses and or mentions of others, there will eventually be a frerard pairing, story is dark and a bit angsty, there is a minor character death, bad language and discussion of drug/alcohol abuse and gay sex so be warned, if in doubt don't read.
1. Chapter 1

BLACK PARIAH

Chapter One

The drizzling rain that came just after nightfall made the dirty streets and tall, looming buildings of the city shine. It was a false glisten, however, a mask to hide the filth and scum it really was. The street was relatively quiet, as everyone had already escaped to their homes from the daily grind. The only sounds one could hear were the occasional wail of a distant siren and the staccato blares of game shows coming from unseen televisions.

A tall dark figure hunched against the drizzling rain, his wet hair straggling over his face. He huddled a small brown paper bag to his chest, as he made his way towards the dark green door that sat between a deserted clothing store and empty, brightly lit Laundromat. His hacking smoker's cough bounced loudly off the buildings, and he heaved a heavy sigh as he fumbled with his key. After a short struggle with the cheap lock and damp wood, he opened the door and disappeared inside.

Gerard leaned wearily against the door once inside. He impatiently shoved bone white fingers through his hair, freeing the rain-soaked rat tails stuck to his face. He snorted bitterly at the remembrance of the long gone days when he wore his hair long for 'fashion' or 'art' instead of the present lazy indifference and lack of funds. He shoved his back against the door, to ensure the rain swollen wood stayed in the rickety frame, trudged up the uneven worn stone staircase, winced as the too bright solitary light bulb blinded him for a second.

He threw himself down into the hard, worn out mud green couch (making sure to avoid the rip where the stuffing oozed from around a broken rusted spring) He freed the plastic bottle of dark brown anaesthesia from the soggy paper, crumples it into a wad and drops it down the side to join the ever growing mess of half eaten takeouts ,ripped brown paper and overflowing stale ashtrays between the couch and the naked window reflecting the squalor that surrounded him .

He pulled deeply on the bottle's contents, causing the plastic sides to collapse, punctuating the heavy silence with a pop. He rested his head against the back of the uncomfortable sofa and waited, waited for the all too familiar misery to sweep him away like a dear old friend. How did it come down to this? He thought as his mind fell away from lucidity.

Ahh! But that's really the crux of it all, isn't it? It was such a simple question with far too many painful answers. Painful enough for him to, yet again, drift off into the heartbreaking ebb and flow of old memories and half-forgotten sensations. He welcomed them as they tore open the gaping wound again, a penance he paid...repeatedly. Their faces began to bleed across his mind.

Lindsay.

His vivacious wife was so sparkly and full of opinion, enthusiasm and life when he first met her. He remembered the way her hands always moved as she emphasized her point in whatever random discussion had caught her attention at the time. He did love her, perhaps not as fully as he should have. He always held some part of his selfish self back, never spilling his soul with confidence and wild abandon as she did with him - time and again.

She didn't notice it at first, but, eventually, his darkness ate away at her bright light, grinding her down just as surely as the awful, spiteful e-mails and poisonous forum comments from his fans did. He tried to stop her from reading them. He begged her to ignore it all. He repeatedly declared that it was her that he had married. It was her body warming his bed. It was her warm smile he missed on cold bus bunks in the middle of whatever God forsaken country he and the guys were touring that week.

She never did listen, he smiled and half noticed the bottle, nearly empty, but he doesn't care. Not really. He drifts back to where he wants to be. No, his beautiful linds never did listen, it was part of why he loved her - she could match his fiery temper, and quick passion with her own, never a misstep or hesitation. He should have been quicker to notice when she started withdrawing in on herself ,the curves of her comforting embrace ,hardening to sharp planes and awkward angles ,her eyes growing dull and her face gaunt.

"post natal depression" the doctor had said,_ yeah right_, that sounded like such a benign thing , not the all consuming darkness and cycles of self loathing that threw her down into the abyss , it brought back all her old high school ghosts of self doubt ,low esteem ,anorexia and negative thinking, even as she tried to hide ,it was always there, always looming over her ,like the spectre at the feast.

And did he help? Hell no! He snorted, turning to lie down on the horrible couch, his head fitting to the threadbare spot of the arm worn shiny from the grease in his hair mixing with the ever present oppressive rain, countless nights of the same motion rubbing the scratchy fabric thin. No, he didn't help his Lindsay at all, he should have spent more time at home, not been so wrapped up in so many different projects, while refusing to allow her time to pursue her own, 'forgotten' to pay the internet bill more often, cut off her access to all that hate that harmed her so badly, stayed home more, anything to halt that spiralling descent down to his level .All her sunshine gone, her spark well and truly extinguished.

And Frank. Oh God.


	2. Chapter 2

Black Pariah

Chapter Two

He drained the plastic bottle with loud pops of the thin bottle walls collapsing at THAT name dropping into his drunken haze.

_Frank. Frankie_, and so many other pet names they all used to use so casually, that now cut him to the quick just to think, even in the most private sections of his mind.

The empty bottle slid from his weak grasp to fall the few inches to the floor with a quiet hollow thud, as he finally managed to pass through the veil of memory and into a drunken dream filled sleep.

"Frankie, Frankie where are you?"  
he called happily, wandering backstage on a warm sunny afternoon, his claret hair bright, and latest costume fitting perfectly, he felt great and looked better and oh! How he knew it, played on it even and knew exactly how to work the crowds of adoring fans and give photographers the special something extra they all wanted.

They had a great afternoon filming the latest video in what he felt was his best creation yet, he usually felt tired and drained after these sessions, but today everything just clicked and he was still buzzing off the adrenalin high from driving too fast, goofing off and being a total clown playing, enjoying being with his best friends, letting off steam and finally all meeting up again after such a hectic rush of family obligations, interviews, studio work and endless meetings and phone calls at all hours.

"Yo! Gee, over here " Frankie called back cheerily from the midst of racks upon racks of clothing set against the warehouse wall .  
And there he was, grinning and humming distractedly, looking utterly adorable as he browsed through the racks of costumes, no doubt looking to slip embarrassing things into pockets or play some other type of joke on his latest unsuspecting victim.  
Then, turning that brilliant smile, that managed to be utterly disarming yet wicked all at the same time, round to face him as he reached out a hand, 'come play Gee', he asked with a suggestive quirk of his eyebrow. Oh how Gerard wished Frankie didn't just mean as a co-conspirator in whatever this gag was .Something with tiny fire crackers by the looks of things.

He shifted and smiled slightly in his sleep as he dreamt of happier times, when he was different person, before it all got too much and overtook them all.

The dream changed to Mikey's house, some party or gathering, his mum laughing as he chased a chubby, giggling bandit across pale wooden floors,as Frankie's twins followed behind trying to catch him and pull him to the floor for their customary 'horsie rides'  
Lindsay laughing, her hands wrapped around one of those thick clay coffee mugs ,then, all change again.

Frankie walking the length of the tourbus, clad only in grey jersey boxers while rubbing his wet hair with a towel, grinning as he meets Gerard's eyes failing in their attempt not to stare , "perv" he jokes throwing the wet towel at him before walking past to sit in the lounge area.  
Causing his heart to break just a little ,even as he returned the grin with his own paler version.

Those same lips telling him "c'mon Gee don't cry, we all slip up,...four years before a relapse is fine...yeah, you fucked up but at least you know it... we're here Gee, please don't cry " the overwhelming feel of those surprisingly strong arms holding him up as he threw up and sobbed all night .


	3. Chapter 3

Gerard stirred restlessly in his sleep, uncomfortably searching the old junkyard couch for a soft place to rest his head. The old emotions rose up, just to drag him down again.

Lindsay lay listless in a hospital bed, a waxy pale grey tinge to her skin. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she used the last of her waning strength to reach up a trembling hand, a hand that seemed almost thinner that the cannula drip that was inserted and taped to it,in a futile attempt to ease her suffering.

He leaned further forward, so she could stroke his hair and struggle to tell him how much she loved him before another hacking coughing fit sent her frail frame into spasms, making him scream for the nurses again.

The coffin was being lowered under the innocuous sunshine that filtered through the green canopy of leaves that would shelter and protect his Lindsay. It would show the world that he couldn't, the scope of his failure. He stood by on shaking legs, hugging his Bandit too tightly into his neck,crying on his brother as Frankie's arms held him upright, yet again

Him kneeling in front of a serious eyed Bandit ,so like her mothers those eyes ,standing still in her school uniform ,struggling to explain why she had to leave her school ,the sunshine ,her custom designed bedroom with all the drawings they spent so many happy hours colouring in with bright markers.

He recalled the smell of sunshine and the varnish he used to seal their artwork into the walls, tattooing the fabric of their home with happiness.

He walked into his mother's house back in Jersey, like he'd never been away, what was the point? Why bother with any of it? Why did he even try?

It felt pointless, it felt as though all for nothing, just to end up here again. Pointless.

The feeling of Bandit gripping his hand so tightly, scared by the small dark stuffiness that was so different from the open, bright airiness that she had been the only thing she had ever known. With the tiny shivering grip in his, he knew why.

He knew exactly why.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Gerard jerked awake with a start, used his shaking hands to brush his tangled hair away from his face. It didn't register his hair was still wet - not from the rain, but from the tears he'd shed in his dreams. He was so miserable, empty and so lonely. He wondered why he had to relive this endless torture over and over again.

He had often thought about just ending it, buying the pills from the scary boys in their too baggy clothes on the corner, with their defiant, hostile stares.

Washing them down with a good strong bottle of spirits, instead of the weak crap he kept himself on now, in a desperate attempt to stop himself from suicide through alcoholism.

He'd been tempted so many times to stop and answer their yells and taunts on his way home from washing dishes, scrubbing pots and emptying bins.

Black bags stinking and spewing their insides every time he shook or stumbled which was getting to be rather more often than his drink money liked, but he had to get money for the plastic bottles, they were the only thing that kept the DT's from being so much worse.

He dragged his hands through his hair and sniffed as he brought them down to rub his face awake. He could feel that he needed a shave. It felt like there was a good few weeks there already.

He checked his pockets for his lighter, eventually finding it in the button down pocket of his black denim shirt. He stood, shrugging the cramps and stiffness in his neck and shoulders, rolling his head until he heard the cracks ripple down his spine. He stretched his arms wide and brought them back together, lacing his fingers and cracked his knuckles loudly.

_Frankie always used to freak when I did that _he muses as he lopes over to the tiny kitchenette of his bedsit to open the fridge. Taking out the generic loaf of white bread, un-naturally bright yellow butter and a packet of convenience store pink ham that made up the entire fridge contents. Fuck.

_Again with that name, what's wrong with me tonight, keep the rules don't go there, just... Do Not._

He crossed back to the couch and sits, carefully balancing the sandwiches on their chipped pottery saucer, putting the heavier brown plastic bottle from under the sink on the floor beside its deflated twin, leans back plate in one hand and thumps his feet in their heavy black boots onto the coffee stained table someone had thrown into a skip a few months back.

_Heh! _He grunted as he bit through the dry bread, feeling the too greasy margarine coat his teeth. _See, Mikey? I told ya I'd be fine. I don't need any of your interfering. I have a room, food, a place to sit and, now a table too. What more do ya want?_ He muttered bitterly to himself.

Before he can make it stop, the ever-present film imprisoned in his head starts to replay.

He could see his brother standing in his mothers kitchen shouting at him, to get a grip, stop pissing it all away on drink, sort your head out and start being a father again, it wasn't fair on their poor mother, she'd been through the struggle to bring her family up in a bad neighbourhood, already dealt with the tantrums and emotional problems of young troubled teens. It wasn't fair she was doing all over again with Bee.

She'd long since given up on him, quickly learning when daddy was drinking to stay away or it'd be more off those too tight hugs, with tears and snot and foul sickly sweet breath muttering things she could never quite make out properly.

So Bandit learnt fast Gran was boss not Dad, her daddy was back in the sun drawing pretty cartoons and always laughing, not this smelly shambling wreck who cried all the time.

Who never answered questions or listened when she started to talk about her new school, the funny way kids spoke here, or later the girl who pushed her on the steps and laughed when she tripped over.


	5. Chapter 5

Eventually, his mother had had enough and his brother was given the thankless task of delivering the ultimatum.

"Look, Gerard," Mikey said flatly, "we're at our breaking point, and I'm not going to let it kill our mother. You have two choices."

Gerard offered no response. He didn't even register the words being said. He felt numb, and he was concentrating on deliberately feeling nothing – blocking it all out – making it stop. He was getting good at it too.

"Gerard, will you listen, PLEASE?" His brother yelled in red-faced frustration.

Gerard slowly blinked and turned his head to face his angry brother.

"You can take that money," he started, pointing at a plain envelope on the table, "and leave. Just go and do whatever you want. You want to kill yourself? Fine, go and do it already, but stop making us live your misery..." he trailed off for a moment and then continued with quiet hesitation, "Or you can come with me to the taxi, and we'll go to a rehab and therapy clinic. I spoke to them already, and they said not to take anything – just show up and they'll get everything all worked out for you." He got quieter still and offered, "If you don't want me to go with you, I understand. I've been...I've been talking to Frank, and he said he'd help if you'd just let him. Gee, please.

Frank._ Frankie._ Oh, God, the one person he wanted more than anyone else right now; the one person he knew could make this all right and smile while doing it. Oh, that smile, those melting eyes, that perfect...

_Fuck, no!_ He screamed in his mind. What was he thinking? He couldn't be near Frank now. Everyone had to stay away, especially Frank, or they'd all get sucked into his darkness with him, just like Lindsay did. It was all his fault. He wasn't normal. He knew he couldn't let anyone else get hurt because of his selfishness, but he really wanted, no..._needed_ those strong arms. He thought about maybe just keeping his mouth shut and not spewing forth all of the years of frustration, longing and... No! He stopped himself again. No. That 'L' word was supposed to be Lindsay's. That's why she died. She didn't get all of the love she was supposed to, because he had always kept some of his love back for Frank

"Gerard?" Mikey asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He was waiting for an answer, and Gerard still didn't know what to do. He looked down, and realized for the first time that he had a full coffee mug in his hands. It was a thick clay home thrown mug with crackled glaze.

"Lindsay made this," he stated, his voice croaking from not being used for so long.

"Yeah. It's one of hers. I never noticed...I'm sorry, Gee," his brother responded just as quietly.

"I see these everywhere. Remember that phase, Mikey? Huh?" Gerard continued, his voice a little stronger. "We used to laugh about how she was going to cover the world in coffee mugs 'cause she was never happy with the way they came out."

He gently placed the mug on the counter top, giving the handle a tender stroke as he shakily got to his feet. "Ok. I'm going."

Mikey's face fell in grief, rejection, disappointment and a little heartbreak thrown in for good measure. He reached to hand the envelope to his big brother. _this is probably the last time I'm going to see him_

Gerard's mouth shaped into a cruel smirk -a cruel mockery of his once famous trademark quirky smile. "No, Mikes, you don't get rid of me so easy, I don't want your money.

"I'll go dry out and clean up, but I don't think you should be anywhere near and I don't want a fucking penny"

Mikey's jaw dropped in relief, even as he flinched from his brother's cruel words and disdainful tone.

"Oh, Gee! I'm so glad. You'll see. It'll be ok. It's all gonna be fine," he babbled, "but Gerard, take it anyway. You might need it."

Gerard pursed his lips in thought. He snatched the envelope, opened it and took out a few bills and tossed the envelope back on the table.

"You said something about a taxi? Taxi fare," he slurred as explanation.

"Sure, sure," Mikey said, now aware, but unable to stop his babbling. "Uh, before you go," he added quickly as Gerard was already making his way down the hall toward the front door, "I knew you wouldn't want me to go, so I already called Frank this morning. He's out there – waiting. I just thought I should warn you in case..."

Gerard's hand had already half turned the doorknob and he came to a dead halt, frozen to the spot.

"Frank is out there now?"


	6. Chapter 6

Gerard violently wrenched the door open. He wanted those arms. He could almost feel them holding him, just like they did every time he hit rock-bottom. Frankie was there – waiting to catch him. As he stepped outside, he instantly put his head down – hiding. He couldn't stand to look Frankie in the eyes, and with Frankie – it was impossible not to. He stood frozen outside his mother's door and heard the sounds of traffic and normal people getting on with life. A life that all seemed so surreal and distant to him now.

His spell was broken by the feeling of warmth against him and an arm sliding around his neck. He closed his eyes, not wanting this to be just another drunken fantasy. He needed so much for this to be real. It felt as though his heart was going to pound right out of his chest.

"Ger-Gee, honey. I brought my car. I thought you'd be more comfortable there than in a cab. That ok?" the golden voice from his dreams asked softly, almost whispering in his ear. The arm was still around his shoulders, but the warmth had moved from the front of his body to the side. Gerard nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat, not ready to open his eyes and find the dream over.

"It's ok, Mikey. I got him from here now," Frank said. Gerard stood, unmoving – his eyes still tightly shut.

"Are you sure?" his brother asked.

"Yeah, we're cool, ain't we, Gee?" Frank gently joked.

"Um, yeah...you, uh...He might need this," Mikey stammered nervously.

Gerard heard the sound of the envelope of money being handed over. That's all he needed to hear to know that he wasn't dreaming. He would never be so prosaic as to dream about money, of all things. That wasn't to say that it didn't have its uses. It did, but it never motivated him in the least. He always found it to be one of life's crude necessities.

He cracked his eyes a tiny bit – still looking down and saw Frank's scuffed Converse teamed with white socks; long pale beige baggy shorts and the bottom of an obnoxiously yellow shirt. That shirt was...well – fucking horrible actually. He grunted and kept his eyes travelling upwards to see Frank still talking to Mikey, giving him time to observe Frank's deep golden tan. His hair was longer, and he was still using his sunglasses to hold it back from his face.

_Oh, shit. He's turning around. He can't see me like this._ Gerard thought, dropping his adoring gaze once more._ Fuck._When's the last time I put a clean shirt on? He wondered to himself before scoffing quietly._ Yeah. Like he's never seen me in a two-week old shirt before_ he remembered through the alcohol haze in his mind.

Frank and Mikey wrapped up their conversation, and Frank dropped his arm from Gerard's neck, allowing the spring air to hit the back of his neck and startle him out of his daze.

"So, um...I better go get mom. Bee will be home soon, and it's better if she misses this," he heard his brother say. Frank's lips tightened into a hard line, but he didn't say anything. He just nodded and leaned forward to open the car door.

"C'mon, Gee. Let's get this show on the road," he said with a smile.

Gerard nodded once silently – still afraid to try and speak around the lump in his throat – and stepped forward, dragging his feet which caused him to knock his shin against the car. Before Gerard even realized what had happened, Frank was there – his strong hands gripping Gerard around his waist, helping him up onto the seat and cool interior darkened by tinted glass. It seemed a safe haven right then, and he was only too glad to bolt for it.

Gerard suddenly noticed that he was in the back of the car – not in the front where he expected to be. The door was shut firmly, but not too loud. Frank made his way around the car, opened the driver's side door, slid inside and adjusted the rear-view mirror so he could see Gerard in the back.

"Umm, Frank," Gerard finally spoke, his voice still sounding dry and sanded, "why am I in the back?"

"I thought you'd be more comfortable back there. You can move around, stretch out those lanky legs of yours and maybe catch some sleep if you want," Frank replied in the mirror.

"Oh," he replied. _Makes sense _he supposed, as he looked down to see the state he was in. Gerard was glad Frank wouldn't have to look at the fuck up he'd become. The buzz from that morning's vodka started to wear off even more at the realization and the headache hangover kicked in. He laid his head against the window, eyes glazed and cloudy – his thoughts swimming and drowning unconnectedly in the murky mire of his mind.

Frank was shocked.

He kept searching for things to say and kept coming up blank. Mikey had told him it was bad – way worse than the last time all those years ago. He thought he had braced himself, but damn – to see him like this was horrendous. He was so emaciated – just wasted down to a shadow of himself. He seemed smaller than Frank now – hunched and haggard. His skin was deathly pale. His once brilliant eyes were now black sunken holes – a sick parody of the stage make up they used to play with.

Then there was his mind._ Was there anything left? _Gerard seemed so unresponsive – like an empty house with all the lights left on._ Was he still at home? Had they waited too long? _He prayed they hadn't – that there was still something left to rescue in this mindless zombie that retained only a passing resemblance to his Gee.

_Damn Gerard_ for not answering his phone or calling back all those times he tried to reach him. After the funeral, he came round every day at first, then gradually fading off six months later, as Gerard never even acknowledged his existence or was passed out blind drunk. It broke Franks heart to see him like that, and he had to still keep up with his own girls, Jamia, his work , setting up the production company - that he had hoped Gerard would have partnered him in. It wasn't that his guys weren't great –they were, but he knew Gee had that spark of genius that would have made it so much more than it was.

He checked the rear-view mirror again and saw Gerard was slumped against the window his eyes shut and appeared to be in a drunken stupor, and he wasn't wearing his seatbelt – that wasn't like him at all.

"Gee, put your seatbelt on will ya?"He asked, trying to keep his tone light, but his only reply was a small snore.

He didn't know how he was going to get through the next 48 hours, but he was determined to do it. He would do everything he could to bring Gerard back. He missed his best friend - no his brother, his...Well Gerard defied definition. He was like a force of nature when he was on form. He wasn't the sort of person who you just 'liked' or 'got along with'. He made you work far too hard for that casual emotion. He polarized people. You either loved or hated him, but he was fiercely loyal, and Frank could easily imagine him ripping the heart out of anyone stupid enough to hurt any of those select few he was closest to.

He had to bring him back to himself he just _had _to


	7. Chapter 7

Gerard woke on the battered old couch. He felt maudlin and stiff as he swung his lean body around and dropped his long legs to the floor. He pulled the ashtray that sat on the table closer and lit up. He took a deep drag as he scrubbed his palm across his eyes and up into his hair, all while still dwelling on that car journey to some rehab clinic with Frankie.

He wondered what would have happened if he had made it as far as that clinic. Would he still be here? In this place? At this time? _Probably_he thought to himself bitterly. After all of his successes, friendships and grandiose schemes, he still ended up a drunk – living in shit and sucking the life out of everyone around him with the creeping darkness that had held his soul prisoner for so long.

He went to the small damp, musty smelling tiled bathroom out on the landing which he shared with the unknown occupants of the other two bedsits on his level. He ran the tap until the rust stained water began to resemble clear. He then wet his hands in the ice cold water and splashed his face, trying to rub his face awake. He cupped his hands under the spluttering tap, filled them and rinsed his mouth and spat into the sink. He rinsed his hands again before standing upright, finger combing his wet hands through his tangled hair.

He made his way back to his ratty room. As he entered he looked for his watch, which he was sure – _A-ha! There it is_! he thought, suddenly spying it on the floor, peeking out from under the sagging green couch. He reached down and picked his way through the deflated plastic bottles and sandwich plates layered with cigarette ash and grabbed it. _FUCK! I'm gonna be late again. I can't lose the pay – even if it is crap_.

He quickly grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it, checking his pockets to make sure his key was still there. _Ah, well…another day, another dollar_ he mused to himself as he locked the door behind him. He turned on one heel and made his way down the worn out stairs. _More like another day, another piece of your soul gone_ an insidious voice somewhere in the back of his mind corrected. He stopped for a moment, but then shrugged it off as he pushed through the rain-swelled door. He shoved his hands in his pockets and put his head down as he started the cold walk to work.

The steam rose from the huge sink, towering with pots and pans, in front of Gerard. The clammy dampness surrounded him and made him feel sick. To make matters worse, the other sink to his right was also sending up billows of heat with a school kid in front of it whistling along tunelessly to the earphones growing from his head.

The alley door to his left opened suddenly, sending in an arctic blast that made him shudder and turn too quickly. He forgot about the over-sized tray in his numb fingers that were wrinkled from being in the soapy water for so long, and the edge of the tray knocked against a tower of plates. He whipped his head around and saw it all start to happen in slow motion, but he couldn't move fast enough to stop it. He looked to see the kid next to him snicker, then back down at the pile of jagged shards of cheap white ceramic and he knew this would be his last night at this job.

With a groan, he carefully made his way down the steps into the alley, trying to avoid the buildup of grease, which had been his nemesis, causing him to lose his footing and crash into the hard concrete too many times already. He took his lighter from the pocket of his jeans and lit up with his still-shaking hands.

He then checked to make sure the small fold of payoff cash was secure in his pocket as he stumbled down the alley. He would have to make it last. God knows how long it would be before he found another job that paid cash under the table, and he couldn't afford to go on the books properly. There was always the chance that someone would recognize him or his name.

_Back home_ he thought with some relief upon entering his place. He went and emptied the bag of familiar bottles of cheap booze. He put one under the sink and carried the other to his usual place on the couch. He looked around and amended his previous thought –_Well, not home exactly, but here anyways_.

_The van felt more like home_ he mused _and that tour bus_! He remembered how they had all bitched and moaned about it, but, damn…that old bus was what he remembered and missed the most. They were always all crammed in together, annoying the Hell out of each other, but loving every minute of it – the knowledge of never being alone. There was always someone nearby…the sound of Frank's breathing lulling him to sleep most nights.

Gerard closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting even deeper into his memory. There were some nights that were special – no…magical. The nights when he would hear Frank 'enjoying' himself – the stifled moans, the heavy breathing that would work into shallow pants just before he would finish. Gerard remembered lying in his own bunk above, unable to deny the arousal from hearing those sounds – touching himself – trying to keep the same rhythm as Frank, making sure he never made a sound. He would imagine they were together, biting his lip in silent abandon.

He opened his eyes back to the cold present. He raised the bottle again, swallowing as fast as he could. His aim was to fall back into those bittersweet dreams that hurt so bad but were all he had.

When he woke in the pale grey morning light, he felt wrong, uneasy and restless – almost caged. He lit another cigarette, feeling the smoke burning his dry throat and suffocating his lungs before he reluctantly exhaled. He reached for the ashtray and failed – knocking it to the floor, the ash spilling everywhere. His hands were shaking more now than the night before, and his skin was crawling, making him want to scratch it off. He stood up, not bothering about the spilled ashtray and stopped only to grab his battered old black canvas jacket before he stomped out the door, slamming it behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets, trying to pull the material further around him to help ward off the ice wind chill as he approached the corner store.

"Hmmm," the old woman said a she rang up the price of the plastic bottle and the four cans that were cheaper than a second bottle. "Anything else?" she snapped, not bothering to hide her disapproving tone.

Gerard's cheeks burned with embarrassment, making him lift a newspaper from the rack in front of the counter, "Uh, yeah… this too."

He paid and left as fast as he could and scampered back to the safety of his room. Without even bothering to take off his jacket or put the bottle under the sink, he dumped the bag on the table. He sat down, wiping his hands along his grimy jeans, trying to stop the shakes and catch his breath so he could open the bottle.

Half a bottle later, he had calmed down enough to put his feet up on the table, sit back and settle himself in for the day. He caught sight of the paper he leaned forward , snagged the corner and pulled it toward him . _May as well_ he thought as he flipped through the rather dry, boring paper with nothing much catching his interest until he came to the obituaries.

_Aha! Now we're talking. Let's see the dearly departed and the not so sadly missed. What euphemisms have the relatives came up with this round then? Flamboyant character? Hmm… camp as hell ,loud, embarrassing uncle type then?_ he sniggered to himself.

Then, his gut wrenched, his heart stopped and his veins turned to ice as he read …recently departed Donna Way of New Jersey; beloved wife ,mother, and grandmother. Funeral to be held...

He froze.

He quickly crushed the paper in his hands,a physical denial of what he had read. Then, after a moment, he stood and smoothed out the page on the rickety table.  
He frantically read it over and over. _There has to be a mistake. It's wrong. It must be someone else_! He let out an unearthly shriek. His legs gave out underneath him, sending him to the floor as reality came crashing in around him.


	9. Chapter 9

"Stupid ...FUCK!"

He yelled in frustration, trying to get his cold numbed fingers to punch out the right sequence of numbers on the too small payphone buttons.

"Hey Buddy, Cut that shit out! " the bartender called over, half heartedly.

Gerard never paid him any heed; he was too busy praying this was still the right number, that this would work, this would answer his question, all the while dreading hearing that much longed for voice, feeling guilt for the longing, even throughout the horrified screams for his mother that echoed around his head.

"Hello, Mr Iero, Sir?" the young blue haired receptionist babbled into the phone with obvious relief threading through her voice.

"Um... no, sorry, I was just... um, is he there? I was hoping to speak to him " the unfamiliar male voice stammered into the phone, he sounded upset.

_oh shit!  
Was this the call her boss had been waiting for before he took off? Could it be THE Gerard himself?_

She knew the others voices and it wasn't any of them; this one was softer, hoarse, but not shy like Mikey.  
She pulled the yellow legal pad across the desk reading the hastily scribbled notes she'd been left a few hours earlier.

"contact me IMMEDIATELY be nice , don't push , don't spook him , don't let on you know who he is ,don't screw it up,do not be a fangirl !, the last in capitals and underlined.

"Only Mikey, Ray, me or Gerard have this number – so if it rings it will be one of us." She remembered him saying, his kind face lined with worry,his calloused hand pulling at the starchy shirt collar and black tie, the other hefting the weight of the scruffy old rucksack he still insisted on using for trips .

"No, I'm sorry he's out of the office just now, but if you like - I can transfer you to his cell, or if you leave me a number, he can call you straight back" she told the heavy silence on the end of the phone,trying not to rush her words.

She made a note of the caller ID and started composing a text message.

"Um, yeah.. can he call me here, soon...it's a bar, I don't know the number though..."he trailed off sounding unsure.

"That's fine, I can get the number from this end ...is that alright?"

she asked trying not to babble or rush in her excitement, as she clicked the blinking 'run' button on her monitor screen that would start running the line trace programme she'd been itching to use since it was installed.

Her cell lit up silently, telling her of an incoming text reply "WHERE?" it demanded.

Gerard hung up the phone and stared at it.

_Now what?_

He felt his pocket to make sure the fold of bills and small coins were still there, he hadn't checked in his headlong flight to find the nearest phone.

He turned and made his way to the greasy bar and hoisted himself up onto the stained red plush barstool. "Bottle of bud and a JD "he told the indifferent bartender.  
_May as well wait, see if he phones_.

Frank was frantic, he felt like he was going crazy with anger, worry, frustration and grief - all underscored by guilt. _why the hell hadn't they heard from him by now?  
Why hadn't anyone found him?_ -he and the guys had had everyone they knew keeping an eye open for Gerard and all this time nothing.

Then, just when he began to believe as the others did, that he was dead after all, right out the blue - a phone call from some bar in a city he couldn't remember if they'd ever been to –if they had he couldn't remember it.  
_What made him come here of all the dammed places?_ He thought, impatiently waiting to clear airport security.


	10. Chapter 10

Gerard hung up the phone and stared at it. _Now what_?  
He felt his pocket to make sure the fold of bills and small coins were still there, he hadn't checked in his headlong flight to find the nearest phone.

He turned and made his way to the greasy bar and hoisted himself up onto the stained red plush barstool.  
"Bottle of bud and a JD " he told the indifferent bartender,sliding two folded bills across the bar,and tucking the rest of the meagre fold back into his jeans pocket.  
_May as well wait, see if he phones_.

Frank was frantic, he felt like he was going crazy with anger, worry, frustration and grief - all underscored by guilt.  
_why the hell hadn't they heard from him by now?  
Why hadn't anyone found him_? -he and the guys had had everyone they knew keeping an eye open for Gerard and all this time nothing.  
Then, just when he began to believe as the others did, that he was dead after all, right out the blue - a phone call, from some bar in a city he couldn't remember if they'd ever been to, if they had he couldn't remember it.

_What made him come here of all the bloody places_? He thought, impatiently waiting to clear airport security.

The bar looked derelict ,_this whole damm place could use a bulldozer_ Frank approached quickly whilst breathing deeply, trying to brace himself for seeing HIM again in god only knows who knew what state.

Full of anxious trepidation he pushed the door open, the dust flying up to swirl and dance in the pale shaft of light he'd created by opening the door, his eyes adjusting to the gloomy interior and _whoa! what is that stink_? he thought, before quickly deciding than maybe ignorance maybe was bliss after all.  
The place was empty but for a tired overweight bar guy talking loudly about the sports game playing loudly on the old tv set perched at the end of the bar ,to an old hunched drunk ,franks heart leapt into his throat ,_please NO! that can't be him? Please? _he almost cried out in denial his throat parched and he tried to swallow past the lump lodged there,all Frank could see was the back of a shapeless stained brown jacket and a gnarled hand clutching the glass filled with pale yellow ,frank stepped forward making the bar guy look up ,then seeing a stranger, he pursed his mouth and jerked his head to indicate Frank should go to the side, his manner obviously displeased but unsurprised.

Frank turned to the row of 3 or 4 booths set at the back of the wall on his right, and there in the first one ,level with a old dusty jukebox was Gerard.

He had his head nestled in the crook of his elbow, filthy black hair spilling onto the none too clean table, five or six empty glasses and a half full one set before him, his other hand spinning a quarter in shaky circles on the wet surface.  
Frank slid in to sit opposite reached out and touched his elbow lightly "_Gerard_?"

_I look up and there he is, my Frankie, my angel, my sanity...my hope_.  
"hal-lo ang-el, tell me...what song should I play Frankie babe? it's the encore ,the final curtain call, what's a good song then, eh?" he slurred, half singing in an awful coarse thick voice, angry and half passed out already.

_He looks as beautiful as ever ,the years have been kind to him , he'll sort this out ,he'll make it stop it's all gunna be ok ,no ones dead, it's all fine, and then... aah... here comes the black, the abyss to swallow me whole, can it please end this time? ...i want my parade now. i'm ready._


	11. Chapter 11

"Fraa ...urgh"  
the desperate wail cut off as he throws up again ,_it's good, get that poison out his system_, Frank thought, trying not to retch himself as he perched on the edge of the hotel bath, his hand against Gerard's head to stop him from splitting his head open on the cold porcelain.

"that's it, get it all up , you'll feel better once it's out" Frank soothed.  
After what seemed an eternity of retching and dry heaves Gerard seemed to have stopped, but hadn't spoken a word since the incoherent sobbing and rambling mumbles in the cab.

"Ger, you need to clean up, think you can get up?" Frank asked and suiting action to the question he helped haul him up and sat him on the edge of the tub as he closed the toilet lid and flushed yet again.  
He took off Gerard's jacket and knelt on the tiled floor to untie his laces, the task becoming much easier as the dirty, frayed string snapped in his hands making the old worn leather slide off easily.

"huh! no socks?" he commented, Gerard only just managed to reply with a grunted "meh" his head lolling to his shoulder before dropping down to rest on his thin chest his eyes rolling up failing to focus on Frank.

Several hours later, Frank threw the soiled towels into the trashcan.  
Gerard had been disgustingly filthy, and once in the warmth, the ripe odour was too much for Franks nose to bear so a bath became the first order of business, Besides, Frank knew there was no point in any attempt at talking until he sobered up from this latest bender.

_Anyways, I need the time to figure out what to say- does he know? Surely he must, why else call now and not before? Urgh! I never ever want to do that ever again_ he thought while scrubbing his hands yet again.  
Turning off the taps he went back through to the bedroom and let his critical gaze take note of Gerard passed out on his bed.

His eyes ran over every inch of the ghastly sight, the thin skeletal frame, his ribs showing clearly, the lumpy spinal knobs marching down his bruised back, the different shades of bruises on his knees and legs, purple blending with yellow and brown, the angry red scrapes and pink half healed cuts covering most of his limbs and face, the restless eyes moving in their sockets with the shadows and dark circles worse than ever and rimmed in red.

Frank wanted to cry, to put his head in his hands and weep, but instead, he breathed deep, turned to the phone and dialled room service to order everything he could think off, starting with burgers, chips, sweet sugary coke and a ton of strong coffee.


	12. Chapter 12

"Mikey? Its me, Frank "

He whispered, closing the bathroom door behind him.

"listen, yes i've got him..yeah he's bad..yeah, I know its in a few hours, but no, Mikey, really you wouldn't be asking if you could see him ,

I cleaned him up best I could but it's gonna take a lot more than that ,he's still not sobered up or spoke,

eh? what? ,no - he's puked and passed out for the last 8 hours ,there's no way he's fit to get on a plane ,

yeah, yeah I know Mikes, we all do, but keep it quiet ok? I don't think its gonna work that way ,remember last time we tried that intervention shit, let me just see what he wants this time ok ?

, yeah you too Mikes I'm sorry bro , You know I'd be there but I can't leave him in this…

you know I have to do this , I'll be thinking off you ,no, no, I'm not telling him , I think he knows though...

no, nothing that clear yet, but why else now?

Yeah I'll keep you posted, ok I better get back, take care bro .

He snapped the phone shut, making sure the 'silent' icon was still on screen, and slid it into his pocket.

Frank closed his eyes, leaned his back against the wall tipping his head back to try to stem the flow of tears threatening to overspill, then, unable to hold it anymore he slid down the wall to crouch on the floor and sobbed his heart out, the tears running free and silent sobs wracking the small figure hugging his knees on the bathroom floor.

Sometime later, Frank stopped crying and felt utterly drained, empty and numb – there were just too many conflicting emotions to cope with at once and now his brain and body were demanding sleep , he still had no idea what to do or say ,but drawing on the last of his energy, he turned the handle and stepped out of the overbright bathroom and into the dim bedroom.

He walked over to his bed and not hesitating or thinking ,he shucked off his shoes and jeans stepping out of them and got into the other side of the bed, no longer caring about the mess or the sour smell of sickness permeating the room.

He wanted the comfort of a hug, not in a sexual way at all, just the simple comfort of being physically close to another person while falling asleep, and still not trusting that he had found Gerard again – he kept expecting him to suddenly disappear, he wanted to keep him close, however he stayed far away on his own side of the bed, tucked the duvet up over Gerard's shoulders then turned and fell straight into an exhausted dreamless sleep.

Only to be woken a few short hours later by Gerard screaming about trees and coffins and needles attacking him, the sheets drenched in sweat.


End file.
